


Under my skin.

by rufflefeather



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Knife play of a sort, M/M, Shaving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-19
Updated: 2012-03-19
Packaged: 2017-11-02 05:33:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/365492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rufflefeather/pseuds/rufflefeather
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for this prompt at the kink meme - The first time Merlin has to shave Arthur.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under my skin.

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd, not mine, the usual.

_"Mer_ lin! With your hands trembling like that, you’re more likely to slit my throat than actually take off any hair.”

“Um,” Merlin said, swallowing hard and considering whether it wouldn’t just be more prudent to heal Arthur’s broken hand and deal with the consequences of being unveiled as the sorcerer that he is, rather than having to stand so close and possibly be unable to resist latching his mouth onto those ridiculously shapely lips. Maybe. Perhaps.

“Look, I know how inept you are with a sword Merlin, but I hadn’t imagined that blundering of yours stretched to anything sharp. I’m sure you’ve shaved yourself, haven’t you? Or aren’t you old enough yet to grow hair on your face?”

Arthur was scowling, looking a little red in the face, his jaw set, bottom lip jutting out a little. It was this fairly, mostly, well, _almost_ undeserved attack that steeled Merlin and had him flick the excess water off the blade before he set it to Arthur’s cheek.

“For heaven’s sake, be careful though,” Arthur told him and Merlin rolled his eyes.

“If you’re not going to shut your royal mouth, _sire,_ I will end up cutting you and I can’t promise you it will be by accident.”

Arthur’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth to protest but the sharp drag of the blade against his skin apparently was enough to still even his tongue.

Merlin bit his lip. He titled the prince’s face slightly to the light with one hand while he dragged down the knife, revealing a straight line of skin beneath the soap. He exhaled sharply, rinsing the suds in the basin. There, not so bad, really. He carefully avoided Arthur’s eyes as he set to work again, drawing a stripe next to the other one, cheek to jaw, cheek to jaw, cheek to jaw.

“Lift please,” he said and it should have been more of a command, he meant it to be, but his voice came out a little hoarse and the exhale on his hand as Arthur lifted his chin almost made Merlin’s breath stutter. He followed the edge of Arthur’s jaw, so sharp it could have been carved by the very knife Merlin held to it. His heartbeat crested to a new crescendo of tension as he manipulated Arthur’s neck into any angle he desired. The prince was so pliant, so willing, so soft beneath his fingers he could imagine what he would look like if it was not the knife pressing into his throat but Merlin’s lips, following lines and patterns of craving and satisfaction.

He was careful with the apple of his throat, because the truth was, Merlin _hadn’t_ done this very often. Truly, why would he put up with cuts (which were inevitable, really) and burn when he could will away the morning stubble with less than a thought? He held off the blade as Arthur swallowed and watched his throat dance to a melody Merlin felt was only meant for his ears.

“Merlin?” Arthur asked, straightening.

He blinked. And he wondered. Did he look a little bit flushed too?

“Press your lips together please,” he said before the want that curled deep in his stomach had a chance to reach into his chest and stop his heart long enough until he had to kiss Arthur’s mouth or perish.

With careful, short strokes he scraped the blond coarse hair off Arthur’s upper lip, and then off his chin. He watched as Arthur relaxed his mouth, unable to look away from how the lips filled from pale to pink again.

With a small, thick towel, he dried the left side of Arthur’s face, and he imagined it, he was sure he did, that Arthur leaned in to the touch just a little. Carefully he wet and soaped up the other side. He waited for Arthur to say something scathing about the job he’d done so far, but nothing came. Instead he found Arthur staring at his fingers as they pressed into the towel before picking up the knife again.

“Ready?” he asked, putting the blade to his cheek when Arthur nodded.

He felt the air grow thicker and thicker, with every line that cut through the soap. The muscle in Arthur’s jaw danced once and Merlin had pressed his fingers against it before he knew what he was doing.

“Just,” he said, when Arthur stilled to the point of not breathing, “a bit of soap, Sire.”

The only sound in the room after that was the crisp scratch of knife over skin. Maybe Merlin took his time just a little longer than he needed to. Maybe he dragged the blade just a little too slow. Maybe he let his eyes linger on crests and dimples, on corners and soft, soft skin. On curves and shadows and places he wanted to fill with his fingers and tongue. Maybe he held the towel to Arthur’s cheek a little too long because Arthur grabbed hold of his wrist.

_This is it_ , Merlin thought, not knowing if this secret was more dangerous than his magical one.

But Arthur just looked at him, the sunlight spilling into the room behind him, turning him golden.

“You look at me,” Arthur said, in a low whisper that sounded like music and water trickling into a silent meadow. “You look at me like I am the only person in the world. You look at me like there is nothing else worth worshipping. You look at me like closing your eyes might hurt.”

“I’m sorry,” Merlin said, because he didn’t know what else to say. “I won’t–"

His lungs couldn’t drag another breath into his chest after that, because they were too full with a feeling that seemed to fill up the room and every single one of his crevices. Because Arthur had shaken his head and pressed a small kiss to the inside of Merlin’s wrist. Right between the bones where his heartbeat fluttered like a frightened little bird.

“Never,” Arthur said, “apologize for feeling like that.”

He couldn’t quite bring himself to look at Arthur, so he looked at his kissed wrist instead, like he couldn’t quite believe it belonged to him, and he nodded.

“Do it,” Arthur whispered.

“What, Sire?” Merlin asked him, chancing a glance at his prince.

“All the things your eyes promised when they travelled over my face. Do them all.” He tugged Merlin’s wrist, bringing him forward until he stood between Arthur’s legs. Now that it was offered to him, he didn’t know if he could. For it was one thing to daydream, it was something else entirely to be offered your greatest want and fear without demanding it.

Then, Arthur’s eyes grew heavy and his lips parted and Merlin found it was as easy as that. To just part his own, and fold their mouths together. To taste the shape and the curves with his lips, to feel the flavor of his throat with his fingers.

Arthur let him wander, let him shyly find his way around the pattern of his jawline and the map of his throat. He let him explore the contours of his tongue and touch the soft skin of his eyelids with his mouth. But when Merlin found the nook beneath his ear, discovering the pleasure of making someone moan, Arthur couldn’t be idle any longer and pushed Merlin against pillar in the middle of his room.

He charted the lines of Merlin’s throat and surveyed the degrees of his ribs. He drew the summits and valleys of Merlin’s hips with his fingers and found the most hidden places with the softest of fortunes with his mouth.

But most of all, most of all Arthur cherished the sighs and sounds and the promises from Merlin’s lips before he kissed them up and buried them deep, deep within himself, to keep for the days he might lose his way.

 

~fin~

**Author's Note:**

> [ Here at LJ.](http://rufflefeather.livejournal.com/16442.html)


End file.
